


This Party's A Gas

by pentipus



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Shining (1980), The Shining - Stephen King
Genre: Death, Gerard's hair, M/M, Mild sexing, Overly flamboyant description, Questionable canonical references, Self indulgence, pete wentz - Freeform, woe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:53:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentipus/pseuds/pentipus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is stupidly AU. It's The Shining, basically. Frank works in the Overlook (early 1950's), Gerard plays in a band and Mikey is crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Party's A Gas

**Author's Note:**

> This is another fic that I wrote almost seven years ago now. First posted January 2007. So anyway, yeah, there are plenty of bits that are like, just urgh. But there you have it!
> 
> Con-crit welcomed!

When Frank finally realised he was dead he assumed he had been shot, maybe in the head. He remembered the first sharp snap of air as a gun went off behind him and the drops of blood that landed on his cheeks, and as he sat stunned in momentary horror he was suddenly gone too.

 

 

Before that though, there had been a bright green spring and The Overlook Hotel had never looked more beautiful. After the snow had finally melted and the evergreens huddled and stood straight up like toothbrush bristles.

Frank was one of the first of the live-in staff to arrive that year and he found that walking around the hotel's near empty hallways, and fixing himself lunch in the echo of the kitchen made him happy. Just those simple things, he felt as though he was home. He often thought about the murder that had occurred last year and although he felt safe in the Overlook, he steered clear of the hallway where one of the maids had found the body of one of the guests, purple bruises around his neck. Frank had been worried that the hotel might seem different somehow after that, the windows like black mouths and the corridors nothing but ominous corners and creaks underfoot. But the death of one man was apparently not enough to change the Overlook all that much. It was not the first death the hotel had seen, and most likely would not be the last.

For the first week back he had been alone in the hotel but for five other people, who he assumed were the ones that sometimes made the floorboards creak outside of his room and once of twice made the soft "huh" noises that echoed through the hallways in the middle of the night. A lesser man, or indeed, a smarter man may have been worried about the nocturnal shufflings of unseen figures in an almost empty hotel, but Frank just didn't mind.

By late June the hotel was busy again and the corridors were always full of creaks and noises. The Colorado Lounge hosted a party almost every other night and Frank attended as many as he could, rather than as many as he dared. The manager, Mr. Derwent, had promoted Frank just before the winter closure of the hotel.

"Night manager, Frank, hmm?" he had said happily, shaking Frank's hand.

"Mr. Derwent, that's-" what? Unexpected? Frank hadn't really known, he didn't think night managers actually did anything.

"You deserve it, Frank. You're a harder worker than anyone else here and you've had a promotion coming to you for a long time," he smiled and looked around hammishly, knowing that they were the only two in his office, "Plus, just between you and me, there are certain privileges that come with the job. If you now what I mean?"

Frank didn't. But he smiled and nodded, "Of course, Mr. Derwent. Thank you very much, sir."

Frank found out later that the privileges included free drinks at the bar and an extra day off a week. But seeing as Frank lived in the hotel, it didn't really make a difference to him if he had time off or not. He always ended up working anyway.

When June turned into July there was the late Summer Solstice ball that he was obliged to attend. So he stood at the back of the Colorado Lounge in his best suit (not really a 'best suit' by anyone's standards, but it did the job) and watched the hired band absently, sipping his free glass of whiskey and thinking that he could be making the most of an empty room up on the top floor.

_Look._

He watched the band play and tried to figure out who was who. He knew that two of them were the Way brothers. The two with dark hair, he assumed. One played bass and wore glasses and the other sang. Was the drummer called Rob or Roy or Ray, maybe? Or was that the guitarist? He shrugged to himself and was about the leave when he felt suddenly dizzy and his drink spattered on the carpet.

"Shit," he said and tried to clear his head. Look. He felt the overpowering urge to be sick, but he didn't know why. He rushed to the restrooms where the attendant stumbled out of his way with an, "Oh my goodness!"

He bundled into a cubicle without closing the door and was sick twice. The noise of his retching making him think that the, _Did you see the Way brothers? Did you see them playing?_ were just his own incoherent thoughts.

_Gerard._

"Sorry?" he mumbled as he turned to look at the attendant standing at the cubical doorway.

"Are you alright, sir? Can I get- Is that you, Mr. Iero?"

Frank grunted in response and took the tissue that the attendant handed him.

"Are you ok, sir? Do you want me to get Mr. Derwent?" he said, sounding nervous.

"No, no, it's ok. I just need to sit down for a minute," he put the toilet seat down and sat with his head in his hands.

The noise from the Lounge boomed suddenly as the bathroom door opened and then muffled quiet again as it closed.

Frank noted vaguely that the band had finished as the attendant spoke to the man who had just entered.

He listened to them for a moment, his head still in his hands, until he heard the man say, "I'm looking for the night manager, but no one seems to know where he is."

Frank rubbed his face with his hands and as he stood he tried to pull his suit into something that looked presentable. "Excuse me," he said, stepping out of the cubicle. "I'm Frank Iero, the night manager."

The man jumped slightly and turned around, his shocked chuckle turning into a smile. It was one of the Way Brothers. The singer with the dark hair and the expensive looking suit. "Hi, I'm Gerard Way, I'm with the band."

Frank smiled weakly and shook his hand, then, "Gerard?"

He nodded, "The band and I, we were hoping that there would be a room for us here at the hotel. I mean, we were planning on driving back down to Sidewinder tonight and leaving early morning from there, but it seems easier to stay here."

Frank knew full well that the hotel was full and that bookings couldn't be made past eleven at night, but he smiled anyway and said, "I'll see what I can do."

 

 

From the corner where the band was sat, Mikey Way watched his brother leave the bathroom not alone but with a man, and his fingers twitched against his brandy glass.

_Who the fuck is that? Where the hell did he come from? I swear to God -_

"Hello there, chaps!" Mikey jumped as Derwent seemingly appeared out of nowhere, holding out his hand and smiling. "Wonderful job tonight, wonderful. The regulars are already asking when you're coming back."

Mikey smiled nervously and fought to find a suitable reply when Ray, who saw his searching eyes, said, "Well, Mr. Derwent, we'd love to come back and play here again. It's a beautiful place."

"Wonderful! Ah," he said as Gerard reappeared. "I was just saying to your band mates what a good job you did tonight."

Gerard smiled and touched his hair involuntarily, "Thank you, sir. I found Mr. Iero, by the way, to ask if he could find us a room for the night."

Derwent nodded and hmmed, "I don't think that will be a problem. Why don't you boys come along to my office and we'll sort something out?"

Frank walked back into the Lounge as the band stood and headed out, across the lobby and towards Derwent's office. Frank rolled his eyes knowing that Derwent would most probably book them into a room where someone was already staying or say they could sleep in the kitchens or something.

In Derwent’s office the band crowded around his desk as he searched through his red, leather bound bookings bible. Which was never updated and thus pointless. As Frank knocked on the door and entered, the band jostled around to make room and Mikey's hand hit a brass paperweight and knocked it to the floor.

"Sorry," Frank said, smiling up at Gerard and then around the room. "I've found the band a room, Mr. Derwent."

As Mikey bent to pick up the paperweight he saw on the underside of Derwent’s desk, taped above his legs, a black revolver. It shocked him for a second before he straightened up, because what would a hotel manager need a revolver for?

 _Thugs, criminals._ Of course, Mikey thought. He looked at Frank who was trying to tactfully explain to Derwent that his red bookings bible was useless. _Revolvers are for retribution._

Gerard smiled at him and put his hand on the small of his back for a second, "You alright?"

Mikey nodded.

 

 

By 2am the Lounge was almost empty, aside from a few couples and a small group of men in the corner, surrounded by thick cigar smoke and chuckling in a secretive way. Gerard and Frank sat at the bar, taking full advantage of the free drinks.

"I don't think Mikey likes it here," Gerard said as they clinked their glasses together for what seemed like the hundredth time. "He's been strange since we started driving up from town."

Frank nodded and sipped his whiskey. He was considering his reply to this as he watched Gerard's mouth. And it seemed a long time before he realised he hadn't said anything and that Gerard was looking at him strangely. "Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes that happens," he said lamely.

"I think he's creeped out by that room you found us," he said finally.

"Well, it's not the best room we got, it's pretty much uninhabitable but it's all we had left," did he slur that quite badly? Frank thought to himself. What had he said? Un-in-habab-le, un-nun-hat-bittle, an-in-ham-bibble.

Gerard swirled his drink around his glass and said, without looking at Frank, "And there's only one bed and a cot in there."

Frank wasn't sure what this was supposed to mean and they sat in silence until the barman said, "Another drink, gentlemen?"

"Er, no thanks Lloyd. I think I'll turn in for the night," Frank said and drank the rest of his drink down in one gulp and felt it burn the back of his throat and settle somewhere near his groin.

He and Gerard wandered across the lobby in silence. As they reached the foot of the main staircase they faltered for the slightest of moments.

"My room," Frank started but his voice broke embarrassingly and he coughed. "My room is this way." He looked straight ahead as he said this and waited for Gerard to laugh at him and go back to his band. But he felt Gerard’s fingers in a line down his back, pushing gently, so he carried on walking across the lobby to the smaller staircase off to the side, near the entrance to the kitchens. Gerard's polished shoes clicking on the tiles underfoot.

 

 

They kissed in the hallway outside of his room and Frank prayed that no one would walk by. Gerard gripped his suit jacket and seemed to stumble whenever they shifted against one another.

Inside Frank’s room he didn't want to ask Gerard to fuck him, because that would seem needy, like he was some groupie or something. But after a while it seemed that if Frank didn't say something Gerard would be happy to kiss all night with his hands on Frank's waist and his back flush against the wall.

 _Just ask him._ The thought was strange, as though another Frank was urging him on. And Frank repeated the thought in his own mind and then whispered, "Gerard, are you going to fuck me?"

He felt Gerard’s hips seem to move away from his own as he stammered, "I, I'm, I don't-"

It was only afterwards that Frank realised he was trying to say that he didn't know how. Really, he should have guessed that he had never been with a man before, when he had to direct him silently, only stuttering, "Fingers, your fingers first," when he felt Gerard’s dick pressed against his ass as soon as he had dropped trou'.

Gerard came inside of him because that was what Frank had told him to do, clutching at him in a desperate fashion. And as he felt Gerard's exhausted body lean against him, he had to find Gerard's hand and press it between his own legs, trying to make it work when he knew that it really wasn't. When he came he made more noise than he needed to, pretending to Gerard and himself that he was more satisfied than he was sore. That this had been worth it.

He heard Gerard say, "Sorry, I'm sorry" behind him and he cringed.

"It's alright," he said and pulled Gerard over to his single bed where they fell asleep together until the morning, when the summer sun streamed through the thin curtains and made their eyes hurt.

 

 

Mikey woke up and knew immediately that Gerard was not in the room because he was always the first one up and yet today everyone was asleep. He tried not to think about the man he had left him with at the bar, or the conversations that he had had without him. They were brothers weren't they? They should share everything. Shouldn't they?

 _Of course._ Of course, Mikey thought.

He dressed quietly and left for breakfast alone, knowing that Bob and Ray wouldn't get to sleep in beds again for a while.

 _Look for Gerard._ And he was pretty sure he had thought that, just then. He should look for Gerard.

 

 

For a while they just lay on Frank's bed above the covers, as they had fallen asleep last night, and said nothing. They were touching only at the shoulder and it felt so awkward that Frank wanted to make his excuses and leave.

"Frank?" Gerard said finally.

"Hmm?" There was a long pause where Frank could hear Gerard’s breathing quietly speeding up, as though he were preparing himself for something. "What is it?" Frank said finally.

"Last night, it, I," he stopped and looked over at Frank and smiled. "Listen, I'd never done that before. I didn't know that-"

Frank found Gerard's hand blindly, as he had done last night, but this time he just pressed Gerard's fingers into his palm and smiled back, "Yeah, it's ok. Really. Maybe next time-"

"Next time?"

Frank snorted, "Yeah, next time we'll get it right. Yeah?"

They kissed on Frank’s bed before they left and as they were about to part ways Gerard caught Franks hand and kissed him once more, without being too close and with only the slightest of hmm's against Franks mouth.

"I'll see you next time then?" he said and Frank smiled.

 

 

Mikey had watched them leave Frank's room, had found it via a series of _Why not try a left here? Just up these stairs. What number do you think it could be?_ And he was sure the thoughts were his own because they were in his head. Maybe it was intuition, he told himself. And then he heard _two four five, two four five. Try room two four five._

He had waited at the corner of the corridor and watched his brother and the man from last night. The night manager? He didn't know. He followed them down stairs and watched them in the corner of the lobby, where the hallway led to the kitchen.

_This must never happen again. He must never go near him again._

Then he watched as his brother touched the mans hand. He watched as they kissed. His brother’s lips and his eyes closed. Mikey had almost shouted out but a voice said, _Not now, not yet. Wait._ And he had bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. This must never happen again, he thought.

 

 

The June before last, Frank had gotten drunk at some party or other and ended up fucking Pete, the entertainment coordinator, in the back of the kitchens, between the shelves of pots and pans. Pete drove for five hours twice a week to discuss the hotel events with Derwent. And after the kitchen incident his hotel-events-discussions usually turned into nights with Frank, who was always bored of being under-sexed and over-worked.

But now, after Gerard, Frank found himself making excuses whenever Pete would be up from town. Until the seventh time when Pete whispered one night at the bar, "You know what, Iero? If you aren't interested then you can just go and fuck yourself."

Frank had felt like an idiot afterwards and thought of Pete angrily as he jerked off later in his dark bedroom.

By mid September the wind was already biting outside and Frank had put an extra blanket on his bed, wishing that he had an open fire in his bedroom.

Derwent was busy darting around, not doing much at all, for the week leading up to the September Masked Ball. Pete turned up almost every day and glared at Frank whenever he saw him.

"Frank!" Derwent called happily one morning two days before the ball. "I've got a brilliant idea for the ball! Animal costumes."

Frank sighed inwardly, this would only end in his humiliation, he was sure, "Sorry?"

"Animal costumes, Frank," he said again, matter-of-factly. "I want you to get on that straight away."

"But, Mr. Derwent-" Frank started, but Derwent was already strolling off across the lobby saying his howdoyoudo's to the guests.

 _He treats you like a dog sometimes._ Frank snorted and thought, yeah he does.

 

 

Mikey had seen the man from last time when they had arrived. He'd made a good argument about why it was in the band's best interests to skip playing the Overlook and just find a gig elsewhere, where the weather was better and the audience wasn't so stuck up.

When Gerard said, No, Mikey. What's the problem? It's easy money. Mikey had waited a full week before broaching the subject again, his hand on his brother’s arm, trying to sound sincere. Mikey, stop being so crazy about this.

As they approached the Overlook in the delivery van they used to haul their equipment, Mikey cringed when he heard, _There's that man in there, somewhere. Inside the walls._

"Gerard?" he said quietly, leaning over into the front seat.

"Yeah?"

"I hate this place."

 

 

When Frank settled into his usual position at the back of the Colorado Lounge, the last person he expected to see take to the stage was Gerard. Not speaking to Pete for weeks meant that he hadn't even known what band was playing, and he hadn't dared to hope that Gerard would turn up, just in case he didn't.

Frank watched Gerard look around the room and smile, he said something into the microphone that Frank couldn't quite hear over the din of chatter around him. Gerard wrapped his fingers around the microphone and started to sing over a snappy bass line that thrummed up through the floor and under Frank's skin. And suddenly he was grateful for the heavy brown fabric that was covering his inexplicable hard-on. It didn't make any sense, he told himself. That one night with Gerard had possibly been the worst sex of his life, followed by one of the most awkward morning's after he had ever experienced. And yet here he was, sipping his whiskey too fast and trying to ignore the sound of rushing blood in his ears.

After half an hour the band announced a break and the audience applauded as they left the stage. Frank watched Gerard smile kindly to people as they shook his hand, moving quickly through the crowd as if he had somewhere to go, until Derwent caught him by the arm and launched into a slurred conversation that was loud enough for Frank to hear even from across the room.

His gaze shifted to Mikey who stared at Derwent from behind his glasses in a way that made Frank's back bristle. The same way that it does when you feel the presence of someone behind you before you even know they are there.

_Revolver._

Frank blinked and looked around to see who had spoken but suddenly Derwent was in front of him, smiling with Gerard in tow.

"Gerard Way, this is Frank Iero, he's one of the night managers here," Derwent said with a smile.

Jesus, he must be drunk, Frank thought. Considering the fact that he had forgotten Frank had very clearly met the band only a few months before.

But Frank smiled all too wide and shook Gerard’s hand as though he had never met him before, "Nice to meet you."

"Gerard’s band played here in July, was it? Do you remember, Frank?"

Frank smiled apologetically, "I'm not sure if I recall. There's so much happening here in the summer, it's hard to keep up."

"Quite right, quite right," Derwent said before clapping Gerard on the shoulder and trotting off across the Lounge to greet a group of ladies in feathered masks.

Frank's eyes shifted from the women to Mikey, who was still stood at the other side of the room pretending that he wasn't watching him and Gerard. He's probably just protective, Frank thought and shook his head when Gerard said, "So, what are you, exactly? A bear?"

Frank laughed and looked down at the fluffy brown costume he was wearing, the shabby head on the floor next to his foot. "No, I er, I'm a dog." He paused and then said, "It's not totally up to scratch, I made it myself for the most part."

Gerard smiled and leaned to grab the limp tail that Frank had sewn onto the costume at the last moment, "Well, you did an excellent job."

They laughed and sipped their drinks and finally Frank felt some of the tension ebb away. Frank was already thinking as he watched Gerard watch the room, this time it'll be better, this time it'll work out. And there must have been some glint in his eye because Gerard looked back to him and said, "Frank, the last time I was here-"

"There's no problem, Gerard. There's no need to bring it up if you don't want to," please bring it up, Frank was thinking.

Gerard didn't seem taken aback but he stumbled over his words slightly as he said, "I, well, I was hoping that I would have the opportunity to, er, amend my past mistakes."

"It wasn't a mistake-"

"I mean, if you would allow me, this time I could get it right," he looked down and coughed nervously, a few dark strands of hair trying to escape the iron-tight hold of Gerard's black ducktail. His hair hadn't been like that the last time Frank had seen him, maybe he was more rock and roll now.

Frank smiled, "When are you playing next?"

"In an hour after the toast."

Frank touched Gerard’s arm with his brown paw, "Then I may know a little place that's free for an hour."

 

 

Mikey watched them leave and for a moment didn't want to follow them. But he felt the tight pain of jealously in the pit of his stomach and his fingers twitched at his sides. He was telling himself, it's ok, it's ok. And somehow that turned into, it's ok to go after them, it's ok.

He waited, still hoping that this strange irrational possession he was experiencing would pass. But then he heard the whispers and the ideas of the things that his brother might be doing.

 _You should stop it._ Mikey bit his lip and glanced around the room, he felt as though he were in a dream and wondered if he was shaking. _Retribution, Mikey._

He left the Lounge without being noticed because he was good at that, and walked slowly up the wide staircase in the lobby and began to walk aimlessly through the corridors of the second floor.

He kept thinking, I am right, this is right. Retribution. Swift!

The further he walked the more his head swam, the more he seemed to shake. The world was falling in around him, he was sure. He tried to get his bearings because he felt lost.

_It's ok, Mikey. Calm down._

He paused for a moment and looked about before turning around and walking the other way. It was almost as if there was another Mikey stalking the corridors of the hotel with him, so close that their shoulders touched and their knuckles grazed together.

 _Where is he?_ said the other Mikey, who's face was harder and his eyes smaller than the real Mikey. _How did you let him get away again?_

"I didn't," Mikey mumbled under his breath as he passed a masked couple heading down towards the Lounge.

_Don't you remember the last time you were here?_

"Don't-"

_Remember who he was with?_

Mikey was sure he wasn't talking to himself, he was just thinking in a strange way. He felt dizzy again and as he rounded a corner too quickly he felt himself start to swoon and he leant against the wall for a moment.

_Faggot._

"Gerard?" he called randomly. Then he thought, he's with that fucking faggot. I'll bet.

 _He is,_ said the other Mikey, leaning in close, his grey skin crowding all around the real Mikey, it seemed. _He's your brother, Mikey, and who's he with? What is he doing?_

Mikey shook his head because he didn't know, he really didn't know. He looked down the corridor and remembered the gun he had seen in the manager’s office, taped to the underside of his desk.

_Gerard just needs to be shown the right path, Mikey._

He leant against the wall and tried not to imagine that kiss, that kiss. His brother’s lips. The gun under the manager’s desk.

 _Mikey, Mikey,_ the other Mikey was so close to him now that he was sure he could feel his cold breath and smell the bitter scent of coppery blood on his skin. _Mikey, remember in Derwent's office?_

"Yes," he said and nodded.

 

 

They had kissed on the stairs up to the second floor, Frank had taken off his paw-gloves, laughing, and touched Gerard’s hair because he could.

Frank walked ahead of Gerard, his tail swishing limply from side to side. The room he picked was 193, one at the top of the staircase that was currently empty because of the extensive rising damp by the window.

"Lovely," Gerard said as Frank unlocked the door and his eyes lingered on the mottled grey mess up the wall and the dusty furniture. "Very romantic."

Frank chuckled low in his throat and the sound made Gerard’s blood pump suddenly fast at his wrists and behind his knees. He pushed the door shut and pulled Frank towards him with his hands fisted in the brown material of the dog suit. The door keys hit the floor and were forgotten as they kissed.

They stumbled to the bed and Gerard laughed just a bit when Frank tripped on his overly large dog feet and grunted, "Oof!" against Gerard’s neck.

"Frank, sit down-"

"No, you-"

"No, Frank, sit-"

Frank pulled at Gerard’s shirt until he felt the warm skin of his stomach against his fingers and whispered through his smile, "You sit down first, come on."

Gerard shook his head but sat down on the end of the bed and fumbled, without luck, for some way of removing Frank's dog suit, "Frank, where's the damn opening to this thing."

"At the back," they both laughed at this as Frank pushed Gerard back and kissed him again, shifting until he could feel Gerard hard against the inside of his thigh. "Later, though, later."

 

 

"There's no need, Mr. Derwent, I can go back and get it myself, I remember the way," Mikey said, talking slowly so that Derwent could understand him through the haze of his drunkenness.

"Well, really, Mickey my boy, I can go back with you, I don't mind at all. Gwyneth!" he called suddenly, waving drunkenly at a woman behind Mikey. "Gwyneth! Come and meet the band! He's one, aren't you, Mickey?"

Mikey nodded patiently, "Mr. Derwent, would it be ok if I just took the keys to your office? I left the sheet music for the last number in there."

Gwyneth appeared at his shoulder and Derwent shook the keys from his pocket and handed them to Mikey without looking as he began to describing how beautiful Gwyneth was. "Let me count the ways!"

Mikey nodded and left without a word, thinking what a idiot he was.

 _That's it,_ said the other Mikey as he left the Lounge and headed across the lobby. As he reached Derwent's office he paused and thought suddenly, what am I actually planning on doing?

And the voice came again, quietly this time, and comforting, _We will help you, Mikey. We care about you._

He unlocked the door and wiped the sweat from his temples and his brow, realising he was shaking. "Wait," he said to himself. "Wait a minute."

 _They're fucking upstairs,_ said the voice again. The other Mikey. _Your own brother. And him, that fucking piece of shit. Mikey! Don't you see?_

And suddenly he did see, in his minds eye, as though it were a memory he had always had. Up the stairs and into room 193 where there was damp on the wall.

_Look. Look._

There was the man, _Frank_ , on his knees at the end of the bed, dressed like some sort of predator, a wolf or a lion. And there was his brother, in his best suit, his shirt rucked up and his bowtie loose. His hand limply over his open mouth and the other on the back of the other man's head. _Frank, fucking Frank._ Mikey saw his brothers hips shifting restlessly, and maybe that really was a memory.

Mikey shook, there was a heat between his legs that startled him and he scrabbled under the desk for the gun without another thought.

Up the stairs and in to room 193, he thought. He headed towards the main staircase in the lobby but the other Mikey was beside him again whispering, _No, no. Down the corridor here on the right and then up the stairs. There's no one there._

Of course, Mikey thought. Of course, Frank wouldn't have taken Gerard anywhere where they may have been seen or heard. He was a stalking predator, wasn't he? Mikey had heard about people like him, in the city, in the streets at night. And as he reached the top of the staircase he looked across to the door of room 193 and could hear the faint noises from inside.

 _So close,_ said the other Mikey, urging him forward. _Almost, almost._

 

 

"Frank," Gerard said tugging at his hair. Almost, almost, he was thinking. "Frank, my- I'm-"

Frank snorted when he tried to laugh and wasn't shocked when Gerard pulled his hair too hard and came, his other hand twisting his shirt up over his stomach.

There was a long moment where they were still, Gerard lying back on the bed with his hand now over his eyes, Frank unbelievably hard and overheating in his dog suit.

"Good," Gerard said with a smile and as he opened his eyes they flicked suddenly up from Frank and he made a shocked "uh!" noise just before the sharp snap of a gun going off and he fell back onto the bed, dark red spreading strangely through his balled up shirt. Frank felt droplets of Gerard's blood hit his face and he blinked, shocked, and then.

 

 

Frank was a blank space now, moving around the hotel in his dog suit for no one to see. Sometimes he could bleed through the walls and he would catch a glimpse of something that looked like light reflecting off something metal, and he would know that it was someone else dead like him. There were hundreds in the damn place, but they never saw each other.

Sometimes the Overlook would force the image of Gerard's death upon him again. He would find himself stood in the corner of room 193 and see Mikey with the gun, Gerard’s grin turn to fear and the blood on his chest. Sometimes the Overlook would show him things that hadn't happened, but they appeared so real that Frank could almost feel them. And when he hurt he could not scream or run or even breathe.

 _This is Hell,_ the Overlook said. And Frank knew that it was true.

Sometimes he would see the twisted versions of people who had died, the spectres that the Overlook created. Once he had seen the mad, grinning face of Gerard inside one of the elevators, his trousers around his ankles and his shirt deep red with blood. And he had even seen himself, howling and leaping about as Grady, the first winter caretaker, had began dismembering his family in the hallways.

And after that he had seen the Torrance family arrive, thinking they were alone for the winter. Frank had watched the father and had felt the pulse of victory that was already throbbing through the hotel.

Frank watched Danny, the little boy, walking around the hotel corridors, he had watched as he had peered at the door of room 217 and then rightly fled. And when the hotel finally made its move against the Torrance family, he had watched the bloodied effigy of himself on all fours in the corridor outside their room saying, "I'm going to eat you, little boy."

He followed Jack Torrance as he sabotaged the Snowcat and as he fought with the chef, Hallorann, on the stairs. But he watched with little interest because these few days and hours in the life of the Torrance family were barely moments to Frank, who had been trapped in the Overlook for nearly thirty years, and would be trapped forever. He was a blank space.

Jack Torrance, on the other hand, was a juggernaut, he was a rock. And Frank watched him as he spiralled out of control, maybe even out of the Overlook's control. Because he had forgotten about the boiler.

That last night Frank had finally seen the grey dead walking through the hotel. They gathered in the Colorado Lounge and in the kitchens and in the lobby. There were more bodies than the floor could rightly hold but somehow they all seemed to fit. The crushing weight of their fear seemed to be lifting, for some it had been pressing down on them for nearly a century. There were whispers rolling through the crowd like wind on a wheat field, was this the end? Was this the end?

Frank was sure the boy was not in the hotel anymore and he had heard the screams of his mother. And now he heard the whispers building like the rattling of metal, "The boiler. The boiler. The boiler!"

And there he saw Gerard Way, in his black suit, smiling at him through the crowd as the hotel began to scream around him, "It will not be allowed! It will not be allowed!" He smiled back and it felt like that night again when Gerard had sung into the microphone and kissed him on the stairs when no one was around. And he knew he could not die twice so he was not afraid. Outside he could see the sun shining through the windows even though it was the middle of the night, and he heard music over the thundering panic of the hotel.  
Gerard was walking towards him with a smile that was not relief and not victory, he was just happy to see Frank.

No! Mustn't! Mustn't! MUSN'T!

Frank grinned and held out his hand to Gerard, who touched his fingers as the hotel shuddered and was--


End file.
